


Squatter

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, Ficlet, M/M, Nudity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-11
Updated: 2015-04-11
Packaged: 2018-03-22 08:24:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3721957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lindir finds an accident in his bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Squatter

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for anon’s “Character A finds Character B naked in Character A's bed” prompt on [The Hobbit Kink Meme](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/14338.html?thread=25590018#t25590018).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

The languid arm that drapes across him is tempting, curling him tight against his lover’s body and bidding him to stay. But Lindir has duties to attend to, especially with such esteemed guests staying with them, so he squirms insistently out of bed. There will be eons to come to cuddle. He finds his robes in a neat pile on the floor and climbs into them, smiling softly and trying not to look at his lord, lest he be lured back in. Elrond is irresistible to Lindir in the best of situations, but utterly undeniable when in bed. 

When he’s dressed, Lindir sends a curt bow towards that bed, murmuring, “I will return shortly to attend to you, my lord.”

“What would Rivendell do without you,” Elrond sighs, half wryly and half teasing. There have been times when he’s insisted he’s quite capable of dressing, bathing, and feeding himself, but now that Lindir’s made it very clear that he thoroughly enjoys these duties, Elrond generally accepts the doting. Now he rolls over beneath his plush sheets, allowing his servant to leave. 

Lindir is quick on his way through the halls. He’s in dire need of a wash and preferably new robes, especially having spent the entire evening and night away from his chambers—yesterday’s ceremony was too enjoyable, Lord Elrond too alluring. As his personal attendant, Lindir would like to check in on each of his lord’s guests before their morning meal, and his steps are hurried for it, brushing softly down the open halls. 

By the time he reaches his chambers, Lindir’s finger-combed out his brown hair and retied one of the braids that drapes down his shoulder. He twists the handle to his door as quietly as he can, lest less busy elves are still sleeping in the adjacent rooms, and then he slips smoothly inside. 

He takes half a step across his floor, and then he stops in his tracks. His head jerks around, riveted on his bed, and his eyes bulge in their sockets, lips parting in shock. 

His bed, which he left neatly made and vacant, is now an occupied mess. The white blankets are thrown half off the end, only covering halfway up pale Elven thighs, a taut rear, lithe waist, and broad shoulders thoroughly exposed. King Thranduil’s face is turned aside and away, but his long, white-golden hair is unmistakable, draped gracefully over Lindir’s pillows and splayed out in the sheets. King Thranduil’s crown of branches is still affixed behind his ears, but otherwise, he isn’t wearing a single stitch of clothing. 

He’s lying, asleep and utterly naked, in Lindir’s bed. _Thranduil_ , king of the Greenwood. At first, Lindir doesn’t understand, and he’s nearly shaking at the sudden destruction of all his careful plans—he works so hard to keep Rivendell orderly and elegant, and he doesn’t appreciate guests squandering that by rebelling into different chambers—or perhaps King Thranduil knew exactly what he was doing, and this is some lewd, highly inappropriate offering, although, of course, that can’t be it; unlike the kindly Lord Elrond, King Thranduil would never dabble with such an unworthy commoner such as Lindir—but then Lindir realizes exactly what’s happened. King Thranduil had entirely too much wine last night, and he likely continued to drink long after the servants left, only to stumble into the wrong quarters quite by accident. It’s the only explanation, although, in Lindir’s opinion, it’s entirely un-royal behaviour. 

He’d never say that, of course. He isn’t nearly so brave or foolish as to wake King Thranduil up and explain the mishap. Which leaves Lindir thoroughly lost on what to do. He simply stands where he is, eying the supple form of the foreign king, so sensually displayed. Even as distasteful as Lindir finds the behaviour, he can’t help but admire the body before him: King Thranduil is, inarguably, remarkably beautiful. The subtle curve of his spine and the plump rise of his rear, dipping into tight, rosy cheeks, thighs slightly spread as they disappear beneath the sheets, is more than Lindir can resist. He takes in more than he knows he should, unable to look away. 

He prefers Elrond, of course. He _loves_ Elrond and always has, and he’s never had any real interest in other elves, but he can superficially admire the view. King Thranduil’s delicate beauty is markedly different than Elrond’s suave handsomeness, although Lindir can’t help but compound Elrond’s intelligence and justness onto that attraction. Elrond would certainly never crash drunkenly in a servant’s room, and somehow, that knowledge alone makes him better to look at. This is tantalizing but disturbing. 

Yet Lindir’s still standing there, staring, when King Thranduil’s head twitches. He sucks in a groggy breath, something like a yawn, then shakes his head to toss some of the smooth hair back. The movement puts Lindir into his vision, and King Thranduil peers over his shoulder at Lindir, who’s likely turned a deep shade of red. Haughty even through his obvious haze, King Thranduil asks, “What do you want?”

Lindir finds himself gulping. He doesn’t dare tell the truth; he couldn’t possibly usher a king out of his quarters. He’ll simply have to relinquish them until King Thranduil returns home. Instinct taking over, he asks shakily, “Is there anything I can do for you, my lord?”

King Thranduil opens his mouth only to yawn. Even the noise is erotic, made more so by the way he arches his spine, long fingers covering his mouth. Then he murmurs, “No,” and waves his hand dismissively. He settles back into the bed, nestled against Lindir’s pillow, and he doesn’t even bother to pull up the blanket, as though Lindir is so lowly that being nude before him isn’t even a concern: he’s a non-entity. For a moment, Lindir remains where he is, still shocked in more ways than one. 

Then he abruptly turns on his heel and hurries off, wondering if he can have a shower in Lord Elrond’s quarters—preferably a cold one.


End file.
